


Full Moon

by angharadgwyn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, M/M, Transgender, Transgender Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Werewolves, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 22:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16292963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angharadgwyn/pseuds/angharadgwyn
Summary: A werewolf has been taken into custody by the Ministry of Magic. Harry and Hermione, working in their respective ministry departments, are assigned to his case.





	Full Moon

“Brought him in in the wee hours this morning, Potter. Had a right time trying to get ahold of you.”  
Harry carefully ignored that remark as they hurried down the dimly lit corridor. The torches gave off a yellow, flickering light. Hermione was trying to convince the Ministry to install some electric lights, but Harry rather preferred the atmosphere. It reminded him of Hogwarts.

Dawlish was still talking. Harry forced himself to pay attention.  
“... figured you’d be the best man for the job, knowing him as you do. I would’ve chucked him straight into Azkaban myself, but we’ve got to let the Boy who lived have a go, don’t we?”  
“You know as well as I do that Azkaban is under review. Besides, Dementors don’t have much effect on transfigured humans…”  
“Ah, but he’s not transfigured is he? Dirty git just refuses to take his potion. God knows why you spoke up for him to Wizengamot. Same old Death Eater garbage… doesn’t care who he hurts.”

“I seem to recall he used the same defence you did Dawlish.” said Harry coolly, “Just following orders… except his family was under threat. And he never managed to actually hurt anyone. You on the other hand…”

Dawlish whirled to face him, bringing them both to a stop. “Not still sore about that are ya? I was confunded man, whatdaya expect?”  
Harry held his hands up peaceably. “You wondered why I spoke up for him. A lot of us made mistakes during the war. It wouldn’t hurt you to remember that.”

Dawlish grunted, mollified. “How could you think I’d forget…” he muttered. Harry pretended not to hear him. A few more steps down the corridor, Dawlish drew out a large metal key.

“We’ve been keeping him in the holding cells- the door on the left.” Dawlish handed him the keys and a flask of blue, smoking liquid. “See if you can get him to take that.”

“It won’t be any good now. It’s the night before the full moon. Doesn’t it need a week?” Harry asked, accepting the proffered items.

“Show of good faith, I guess.” Dawlish headed back up the corridor, speaking over his shoulder.  
“ ‘Sides, you’re guarding him all night, aren’t ya? It might make him easier to handle.” with a final bark of laughter, he rounded the corner out of sight.

Dawlish really didn’t know a damn thing about werewolves did he? Harry resolved to speak to Shacklebolt about a refresher course for the older aurors. Ignorance was one thing, but Harry suspected Dawlish was willfully so. He knew Dawlish was one of the few Aurors left that were trained before the war, but he still couldn’t forgive him for working under Umbridge. He might’ve been obeying the law, but it wouldn’t surprise Harry if some of the pink toad’s prejudices had worn off on her lackeys. I must not tell lies still stood out, livid and white on his hand.

Deliberately unclenching his fist, Harry took a deep breath and headed to the cells Dawlish had indicated. When he found the one he wanted, he unlocked it and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. No one had lit any torches in here and it was bloody cold. A figure was huddled against the left wall, on the other side of the bars the divided the room.  
“Incendio” Harry muttered, more to warn the occupant of his intent than because he needed to.

The torches in the wall brackets flared to life and Harry got his first proper look at the werewolf he was supposed to guard. The figure had long, white blond hair dirty and matted, with a beard to match. Harry hadn’t really known what to expect, but Lucius Malfoy wasn’t it.

“You’re supposed to be dead” Harry spluttered, not thinking.  
Malfoy looked up slowly, meeting his gaze for the first time, with hollow eyes and an equally hollow laugh.  
“I wish.” A familiar sneer ghosted across pale and pointed features, but it didn’t last long. “Come to finish me off, Potter?” He drawled, but Harry didn’t think his heart was in it.

“Sorry… for a second there I thought you were…” Harry let the sentence hang, unsure how to explain. He would’ve kicked himself if he ever managed to get his foot out of his mouth.

“You mistook me for my father?” Draco’s face was an odd mix of amusement, pride and...disgust? He looked ill anyway, but that was unsurprising. “I suppose you would know...” his head thunked back against the stone wall “Does being behind bars make the family resemblance stronger?”

Harry sat down on the wooden chair facing the cell. He put the potion on the table beside him. This was not going as well as he’d hoped. Malfoy had his eyes shut and Harry took advantage of this to study him openly. He was filthy, his hair was far too long and his fingernails were caked with dirt. His clothes might’ve once been a well tailored garment, but it had torn at the seams and hung loosely on a gaunt frame. Draco had always been skinny, but now he looked starving. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen Lupin look this bad, even on his worst days.

“Enjoying the show?” Draco cracked an eye open to peer at Harry nonchalantly. Or at least as nonchalant as you could get in rags, covered in muck in a ministry prison cell. Then again, the Malfoy’s seldom lacked composure. Harry knew how much Draco must despise Harry seeing him in this state- chances are he’d refuse to take the potion just to be petty. How anyone thought Harry would manage to convince Malfoy of anything was beyond him, but he had to try.

His resolve stiffened, Harry summoned a large, deep basin from the supply cupboard down the hall and filled it with water. He heated it with his wand until it steamed gently. Then he conjured a wash cloth, soap and a razor. Draco watched all of this with suspicion, until Harry placed it all within reach of the bars and stood well back. “A cut throat razor Potter? In the hands of a former Death Eater? You’re losing your touch.”

“ ‘Former’ being the operative word here” Harry replied drily and waited, arms folded. Draco moved cautiously towards the basin, not taking his eyes off Harry. When Harry didn’t move, Draco seemed to gain confidence. He sat cross legged in front of the bars and began putting himself to rights, moving with a fluid grace as if this was how he always performed his morning ablutions. Harry watched as the water in the basin darkened and a face closer to the Malfoy he remembered began to emerge. Occasionally he freshened the water and reheated it. He was careful not to get too close- he still didn’t trust Malfoy as far as he could throw him, but he’d bet galleons that Draco would rather be clean before attacking him. Harry wouldn’t have been able to stand that level of dirt and Draco had always been far more fastidious than he.

Harry leaned back in the chair and struck up what he hoped was a conversational tone. “So...how’d you become a werewolf?”

Malfoy looked up from toweling his face dry. “Did they teach you that superlative interrogation technique in Auror training? I can see why they chose you then. All the criminals must crack under the strain of such subtle and devious inquiries.”

“Glad you’re feeling yourself again” Harry remarked casually. Though he really was. He didn’t think he’d ever miss Malfoy’s sarcastic, biting provocation but he really couldn’t stand seeing someone so dispirited, even if it was Malfoy. Draco’s clothes hadn’t improved, but he was clean shaven and he’d done what he could to his hair- soaking it and brushing it back with the transfigured razor. The knots were still giving him trouble, but it was a definite improvement.

“I can get you some Sleekeazy if you like.” said Harry, indicating Malfoy’s hair.  
Draco made a face. “Trust you to peddle that swill. Fleamont Potter didn’t know a damned thing about hair care products.”

“What?”

“God you really are obtuse. Your grandfather. Terrible name, terrible potions maker. Though that seems to run in the family.”

Harry hadn’t known that about his grandfather and resolved to ask Hermione about it the next chance he got. Smothering his surprise, he decided to change his line of questioning.

“You were pretty good at potions in school though, weren’t you?”

“Oh noticed, did you?” Draco put down the brush, having untangled the worst of his hair. “We only shared every single potions class for six years, I suppose I should be flattered.”

This was going to be difficult. Why did Shacklebolt think Harry would be able to convince Draco of anything? The man was infuriating. Everyone knew they didn’t get on… maybe that was the point? Try to… what? Annoy some sense into him? Malfoy had always been incredibly proud, maybe that was how to do it?

“Yeah, you should be.” Harry feigned indifference, tilting his chair back on two legs. “It’s not like there was any favouritism in that class or anything… your grades slipping in sixth year were perfectly understandable what with everything going on. Nothing to do with a new teacher at all.”

Malfoy flushed a faint pink, but rejoined coolly “You didn’t seem to mind taking a page or two from Snape’s book when the occasion called for it.”

Harry let the chair fall forward with a thunk. Getting under Malfoy’s skin was one thing, but it wasn’t going to work if Harry lost it first.

“Was that all you’re here for Potter? Reminiscing over old times?” Malfoy examined his newly cleaned fingernails. “Or are you going to force feed me that muck and have done with it?” he nodded towards the potion on the table.

“Seems to me if you were going to take it you’d have done it already.” Harry observed.

“Oh, but I just haven’t had the opportunity! Here, let me fetch the appropriate crockery.” Draco stood gracefully and pulled something out from under the wooden bench in his cell. Deftly he tossed it through the bars at Harry’s feet. “It’s so lovely to be catered for” He glared, voice dripping with contempt.  
Harry glanced down at the object at his feet. It was dog bowl.

“Who… gave you this?”

“Gave is an interesting choice of words. Dawlish, I think it was. Charming chap. And we’d got on so well when I was on the Inquisitorial Squad…”

Harry didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, he was already charging up the corridor. After a furious elevator ride, where even the memo’s in the lift seemed to avoid his black glare, Harry slammed the dog bowl down on the desk in Dawlish’s office.

“What. Is. This.” Harry forced out from between gritted teeth.

Dawlish gave the dish a cursory glance. “Oh that? Bit of a joke between the lads… we were planning on giving him a dog collar next…”

Harry hauled the old Auror out of his chair by his collar and slammed him into the nearby wall. The coffee cup on Dawlish’s desk exploded. Harry fought to keep his voice calm.

“Please explain the joke John. I don’t think I quite understand.”

Dawlish was going cross eyed trying to focus on Harry’s wand, aimed squarely between his eyes.

“You’d better get a grip Potter. They’ll have your licence they will…”

“I thought I had a pretty good grip already” Harry said pleasantly as the desk beside them started shaking, sending quill and ink to the floor. “And you’ll have to explain to the head of department why exactly you find goading prisoners so very amusing, not to mention the anti-discrimination bill the Magical Creatures Regulation department is working on...”

Harry let go and Dawlish crumpled to the floor, massaging his throat. “Forgot you was a werewolf lover…” he muttered as Harry headed for the door. There was an almighty crack and Dawlish’s desk split in two. Harry kept walking.

*

Still fuming, Harry headed back to his guard post. He hadn’t lost it like that in a while… not since Aunt Marge really… though it was getting harder and harder to keep his emotions in check after the war. That last dig about Lupin was what had done it, Harry told himself. Didn’t Dawlish understand? Even if he was a bigoted git, surely he knew the best thing would be for Malfoy to take the potion willingly each month. And it wasn’t hard to see Malfoy was filled to the brim with prideful arrogance. Harry wasn’t sure he’d be able to undo the damage to Malfoy’s ego enough to persuade him…

Harry paused outside Malfoy’s door and forced himself to breathe deep. When he finally stopped shaking, he reentered the room.

Malfoy was sprawled lackadaisically on the bench in his cell, looking for all the world like it was a chaise longue.

“That won’t happen again.” Harry said gruffly, slouching into his chair.

“Why Potter. I didn’t know you cared.” Malfoy drawled, fiddling with his frayed shirt hem.

“I care why you refuse to take the damned potion Malfoy. Someone could get hurt!” Harry thought he’d mastered his temper, but apparently not.

“What makes you think I’m concerned for the welfare of others?”

“You’re not a murderer Draco. We both know that.” Harry said quietly, breathing through his nose.

Draco was silent for a time. Then “How would you know? I’m a werewolf now. Vicious killer. Just like Greyback wanted me to be.”

Harry checked his pocket watch. They still had time before the moon was out properly and conversation would be impossible.

“We’ve been tracking you. You’ve been avoiding populated areas. Your clothes… some of the damage looks like bite marks, claws. You haven’t been near civilisation in a while. I know the potion’s been hard to come by, but the ministry is working on a constant supply programme. You could be one of the first to receive regular, government funded medication.”

“Medication. Hah. The ministry doesn’t care about medication. They took mine away from me, refuse to return it, unless I comply.”

“You’re… you’re on medication?”

“You’ll find out soon enough when the results of my blood test come back. Wolfsbane is a notoriously delicate brew. Mix the wrong potion with it… have sugar in your tea even, and it’s rendered useless. The potions I’m on… they prevent Wolfsbane from being effective.”

“I didn’t know you took sugar in your tea” Harry said absently, thinking fast. This was some kind of ploy surely… he just couldn’t figure out what Malfoy would gain if Harry believed him.

“I don’t. Ruins Earl Grey. I can assure you Potter, I am trying to manipulate you.”

Harry’s mouth hung open. With a struggle, he shut it. “Why would you tell me that?”

Draco raised an elegant finger. “One. There’s no way you would ever believe me sincere, so I might as well admit I’m not. Honesty might gain your trust…”

“Honesty about being dishonest…” Harry muttered. Draco ignored him, raising a second finger.  
“Two. It just so happens I am telling the truth. You’ll find out anyway and your lot are all bleeding hearts… that might be to my advantage.”

Harry gathered his wits enough to ask “Will you tell me what potion you’ve been taking? I might be able to get it back for you.”

“No. I’ve suffered enough indignity as is. Now if you don’t mind, I believe the sun has set. You might give me some modicum of privacy.” Malfoy was breathing shallowly and his ordinarily pale skin had taken on a sickly grey hue. Despite being far underground and out of direct moonlight Malfoy would be forced to change. Harry had seen enough werewolf transformations to know they were unpleasant, he didn’t really want to see another. He moved his chair outside the cell door and sat, trying to ignore the bone cracking sounds from within. This was followed by howling, gnawing and pitiful yelps interspersed with occasional bar rattling. It was going to be a long night.

*

Harry awoke to Hermione shaking him roughly by the shoulder.  
“Toxicology is back!” Harry supposed that was her way of saying good morning.  
“Toxi- what now?” He blearily accepted the tea and toast she forced into his hands.  
“Toxicology. It’s a Muggle term. We found out what potions he’s been taking!” Hermione said breathlessly, crouching beside Harry’s chair.

“That’s… that’s great Hermione. But... why are you on this case?” Harry queried through a mouthful of toast, which he quickly tried to wash down with scalding tea.

Hermione tucked a bushy curl behind her ear. “Grimblehawk, you know, my head of department after Diggory retired? Used to work in the Beast division… anyway. She believes this case is an important one for the Beings division, especially with the new anti-discrimination bill we’re trying to pass. Imagine Harry! A former Death Eater as part of the Ministry’s new werewolf rehabilitation programme!” Her eyes sparkled, like the always did when she was righteously trying to help someone… whether they wanted it or not.

“What did you find?” Harry took another bite of toast, chewing slowly this time.

“It’s really fascinating Harry look…” She shoved the report under his nose. “It’s an unlisted potion… he probably invented it himself. It’s rather odd. If I had to guess, it started out as a variation of Polyjuice but he’s done something to it to prolong the effects… and there’s nothing indicating he’s used DNA from anyone else. There’s something stranger too… his hormone levels.”

“Slow down Hermione. What?”

She waved the report impatiently. “His testosterone levels. He’s been altering them magically with this potion.” She stood up triumphantly, as if this explained everything. Harry was still lost.

“Why… why would anyone do that?” He rose from his chair, polishing off his toast as he did so.

“Oh Harry, isn’t it obvious?” It wasn’t, but Harry kept quiet, so she’d hurry up and explain. “Have you looked at his chest recently?” That one threw him. “Why would I do that?” Harry gripped his mug for moral support.

“The scars on his chest!” Harry’s stomach paid a quick visit to his shoes. He still felt incredibly guilty whenever he recalled their last duel, but Hermione didn’t seem to notice his discomfort.  
“We found them during his physical exam. Harry, I think they might be transfiguration scars!” Harry tried not to let his relief be too obvious by sipping his tea. He really didn’t want to talk about that day in the bathroom… his brain snagged on something she’d said.

“Wait, how can you get scars from transfiguration?”

“It was a botched job. In fact, I’d guess it was botched several times over. The oldest scars had to have occurred at least 7 years ago.”  
Harry did the math. “Our… third year?” Hermione nodded excitedly. “Just at the start of puberty for most teenagers!”

Harry needed a map for this conversation. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Everything Harry! The potion he’s been taking alters appearance, but not drastically. It increases testosterone which causes body hair to grow and the voice to deepen. The symptoms of male puberty. And at thirteen, someone… him I suspect, tried to transfigure his chest. Don’t you see?”

“I really… don’t.”

“Harry, have you ever heard of the term transgender?”

Harry screwed up his face in recollection “Uh… maybe? That’s when a bloke puts on a dress right?”

“No Harry, that’s a transvestite. Transgender is when someone is assigned a gender at birth that doesn’t match up with their gender identity. The root of the word is latin, meaning to cross or on the other side of…”

Hastily he cut her off before he got an etymology lesson. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean.” He vaguely recalled something about it on a Muggle TV show- the kind that Petunia would’ve loved to tut through. “But… if Malfoy is… transgender… that doesn’t make any sense! Purebloods wouldn’t go in for that kind of thing…”

“Well, how would we know? The words have changed, but the concept’s been around in the Muggle world for centuries. I’ve no idea what the wizarding traditions are! It’d make for some fascinating research…” her eyes were getting that far off dreamy look.

“Say you’re right.” Harry interrupted. “Does his potion negate Wolfsbane?”

“I haven’t worked out all the ingredients yet… but Wolfsbane is a fragile concoction. I think it would. He’d have to stop taking it for at least a week either side of the full moon. I don’t think it’s healthy for his hormone levels to fluctuate like that.”

“Can we do anything?”

“If I knew exactly how he created this potion… maybe. It might be possible to improve the recipe so it would still have the desired effect, without rendering Wolfsbane useless. I’d like to try in any case. He’s forcing his body through so many changes… lycanthropy on top of transition? That’s got to take a toll on the system. We’ll need his cooperation though, if we’re going to achieve anything.”

“And I’m supposed to get him to cooperate?” Harry went to drink the remains of his tea, only to discover it’d gone cold.  
“You know him better than the rest of us.” In light of this new information, Harry doubted it, but he was hardly going to trust Dawlish with something like this.

“Hermione… have we got any Earl Grey?”


End file.
